


Discretion Advised

by Bad Samaritan (quodpersortem)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Loves Girls'Panties, Implied Slash, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Panties, Solo, cross dressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/Bad%20Samaritan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't want to let Sam know about his affection for girl's underwear... on himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discretion Advised

Dean doesn’t have a lot of patience. 

No, he really doesn’t. If he had, he would have waited for Sam to leave in the evening (because it’s true that they don’t have enough food for tomorrow). Or maybe he would have waited until tomorrow, or the day after, but he’s horny now. And, yeah. No patience.

This means that he spends the entire afternoon insinuating that Sam should leave him alone--"Sam, we need food for tomorrow" and "Sammy, can you grab us something to eat? I’m hungry" and "I am so tired". Eventually Sam huffs out an exasperated breath, and tells him, "If you want to spend some time alone, you should just _tell_ me."

"And have you look at me like I’m disgusting!"

"Time alone, Dean, not alone time. Not the same. Or for you I suppose it is, but-" Sam sighs and walks out of the room. "Never mind. You’re incorrigible anyway. I'll be back later, just... make sure you hide all evidence."

"No worries!" Dean grins as he flops back on to his bed.

“And don’t use _my_ bed for that!” Sam says as he walks out of the door.

Dean locks the door behind his brother and then places a chair under the knob too, just in case. He closes the curtains, assuring himself no one will be able to look into the room (unless they have angel sight but he _so_ does not want to be thinking about angels right now, even if the majority of them are asexual motherfuckers with no interest in what Dean gets up to when he's alone). Then he digs into his suitcase, finds the only pair of grey socks in there, and unfolds them. The black silk that falls out feels as soft to his fingers as ever, and Dean takes a minute just rubbing the fabric between his fingers. 

Then he strips quickly, and pulls up the panties. The first time he'd worn the underwear his face had been burning red-hot with shame but, by now, he couldn't care less. Dean supposes that if this is as kinky as he gets, he's still fitting well within the label "mild". 

His dick has hardened a little in anticipation, and is now pressing lightly against the solid silk. The edges are decorated with a lace band, a little rough against his thighs as he walks to the bed and lays down. With his hand solid and warm on the fabric, Dean rubs one finger against the head of his cock, mimicking the way he would rub at a girl's pussy before undressing her completely. He's hardening further under his own gentle ministrations and closes his eyes, giving in to the sensation with a sigh.

The silk has warmed against his skin and he alternates the finger-rubbing with firm pressure from the palm of his hand, shoving the fabric up and down against himself, creating wonderful, magnificent friction. It doesn't take too much longer before he's completely hard, the fabric straining under the pressure. The head of his cock is juts out of one of the leg holes, pressing against the lace, and Dean tucks himself back in. The rougher slide of the lace against the smooth-hard skin of his dick makes him gasp. When he returns to the rubbing, he can feel how the silk is starting to feel damp with pre-come.

He's thinking of a mouth pressing against his cock through fabric then, a tongue wetting it further--he presses and he squeezes, and rubs his wrist against his dick while his fingers venture a little further back--he thinks of hands slipping up and down his thighs, their touch nimble and light, and arches up when his own hands mirror his fantasy. Dean knows he's worked up enough now that red blotches are showing on his chest, his cheeks. He looks down to see his legs spread, his erection pressing against the fabric that now looks like it'll tear under the pressure. It looks _obscene_ and he loves it, the vision sending another thrill of lust down his spine.

It's easy to fold his fingers around his cock, still wrapped in silk that's now so drenched with precome that the fabric sticks to the head. He starts jacking off more earnestly--not the half-teasing touches of before but actual movement, promising himself relief rather than only frustration.

And it's not--he doesn't mean to, but the image just pops into his head: Cas walking in on him lying here like this. He'd blush, Dean thinks and shudders, jerking a little faster. Yeah, Cas would blush and he'd gape at Dean and he would _not understand_. Dean isn’t sure why his thoughts are going here because he's never had an interest in men before, but _shit_ Cas licking at the panties, not just any mouth but _Cas'_ mouth sucking him off through the fabric, his tongue soft and warm and insecure-

"Fuck," Dean is moaning and then he's arching up again, pushing his hips off the bed and into his hand as he comes into the lingerie, soiling it well and properly. He can feel his come drip down, seeping into the crook of his ass even before he lays back down and relaxes.

"Shit," it takes him a while before he catches his breath, staring at the dirty ceiling of the motel room. Then he pulls off the panties, decides it's not worth to attempt to save them (he meant to get new ones anyway--maybe red ones; Dean is a very visual kind of guy, all right, and red would show any... liquid leaking through much better) and tosses them into the trash bin. Then he thinks better of it, takes the underwear back out and puts it in the empty bag of chips that was still lying on the table. This time, it looks much less suspicious when he throws it back into the bin. Evidence hidden? Check. He takes the chair away from the door but leaves it locked.

Then, at last, he steps into the shower, just as he can hear the roar of the Impala's engine out in the parking lot.


End file.
